Kate’s Monumental Pity Party

Today I had the mother of all pity parties! And the guest of honor? The hostess with the mostest? Yours truly, Ms. Kate Loveton.

I pretty much walked around today looking as woebegone as a certain beloved A.A. Milne character. Yep, ‘Eyeore’ spelled backwards is KATE. Okay, folks, let’s not get literal here – ‘Eyeore’ spelled backwards is actually ‘Eroeye’… but, today, it was just another name for KATE.

My beautiful Friday started out well and then quickly went down the toilet. First, at work, I was left out of a meeting I should have been invited to attend. That bothered me a great deal and made me question my value to the team.

We all want to feel loved, right? Valued? Special? Important to someone, be it organization or friend or family member. So, I wasn’t a happy trooper. Later, I did find out the lack of invitation was an oversight, and was offered some heartfelt apologies, and that did go a long way to restoring my self-esteem.

Even so, it pretty much defined the way my day was going to go. A few other things occurred and, well, let’s face it: when a day starts out bad, there is usually only one way for it to go.

I ended my day feeling undervalued, unappreciated, and just plain hurt. Then began the monumental pity party: no one appreciates me; no one really gives a damn; why be nice? the hell with everybody!

As I said, it was a MONUMENTAL pity party.

So, in a foul mood, I walked in the door at home and began to dump my entire day on my poor husband.

Now, my husband is the exact opposite of me: he has a sunny disposition; he’s not moody; and he is LOGICAL.

Kate, it is logical that you feel the way you do!

Now, for the ladies reading this post – work with me on this: doesn’t it just make you nuts when you want someone to join in on your pity party and they offer a LOGICAL point of view? I don’t want logic! I’m a woman! I’m not Mr. Spock! I want someone to listen to me whine and say, “You are absolutely right to feel the way you do.”

But nooooo – You men, creatures of clear thinking that you are, rarely offer us Pablum, even when we’re acting two years old; only our girlfriends – God bless ’em – offer us that solace.

Mr. Loveton’s take on my day: (1) you’re overtired because you’ve been doing a lot the last few weeks, both at home and at work, and you need a break; (2) you’re being just a bit silly and if you weren’t so tired, you’d realize that; and (3) the  pièce de ré·sis·tance – he quoted my beloved Frank Sinatra’s musical advice to “pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again.”

Damn.

I can fight Mr. Loveton. I can even take issue with Mr. Sinatra. But there’s no way in hell I can fight them both – especially when they are right.

So, my sense of entitlement and hurt feelings – my beautiful pity party – quickly fell to pieces.

Taking the sting out of the day.

To take the sting out of his good advice, Mr. Loveton then took me out to dinner and put a cool chardonnay in front of me. Amazing how a good glass of wine can sometimes make a bad day seem much better!

Well, that and the news that my car is now repaired and back home. I am definitely doing the happy dance. I’ve missed my car. I think it missed me. I’ve had dreams of it sitting in a broken down heap at the Collision Center, waiting for the ‘doctors’ to put old Humpty back together again. Well, they did – and a swell job it is.

Like new again.

So, in spite of a not so great day, I had a lovely Friday evening. I had Frank Sinatra give me a word of good advice, a fine chardonnay to chase the blues away, and my pretty black car is tucked safely away inside the garage.

And, in the end, it’s not the meetings you aren’t invited to or how you feel you’re regarded, it’s how you regard yourself.

Now excuse me, I have just a little more dusting off to do before bedtime.  Goodnight, Mr. Loveton – and, Frank, goodnight to you, too.  ❤